Love and Hate
by archy12
Summary: Edward is a British doctor in colonial India, falling in love with the country as well as finding the love of his life. But will the tidal wave of hate rising from The Revolt of 1857 spare him and his loved ones? (Entry for The Age of Edward Contest)


**Story summary:** Edward is a British doctor in colonial India, falling in love with the country while also finding the love of his life. But will the tidal wave of hate rising from the revolt of 1857 spare him and his loved ones?

 **Beta: Starnosy.** Thank you so much, sweetie, for stepping up to the task on such a short notice!

 **Standard Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Love and Hate**

 **Delhi**

 **March, 1857**

Wearily I step down from the horse cart, feeling my bones creak as if I was seventy and not twenty five. Travelling from Bombay to Delhi by means of various capricious animals was not an experience I would care to repeat any time soon.

"That was a bleeding long journey," I mutter, blinking in the bright sunshine that is spread in every corner of the large compound. In front of me is a sturdy-looking but haphazardly structured building of indeterminate colour, with a signboard hanging from the sloping roof.

'Army Hospital', it says in bold red letters, followed by 'Delhi Cantt.' in smaller ones.

There is a large veranda in the front, occupied by perhaps a score of people. I suppose they must be the outpatients, waiting for their names to be called by one of the assistants to the doctors working here. A few of them are staring at me curiously.

Behind the building I can see a few houses, probably meant for the staff. Behind them a row of tall evergreen trees with dense foliage break the skyline. There are a few though that have no leaves at all; instead they are resplendent with bright red flowers that give a festive look to the whole area. I recognize the ubiquitous Semal or Silk Cotton tree of the northern plains of India. My father has mentioned their majestic beauty many times in his letters.

As I yawn and stretch my arms, a familiar-looking gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick moustache comes out of one of the rooms that open into the veranda and approaches me in a sprightly manner. When he reaches me, his face breaks into a beaming smile. I smile back, recognising Doctor Charles Swan, my father's best friend and long-time colleague. As a child I used to call him Uncle Charlie.

"Edward, my boy!" He pats my shoulder enthusiastically, his brown eyes twinkling. "Or should I address you as Doctor Masen?"

I cannot help laughing. "No sir, Edward will do. How are you doing?"

"Can't complain, my boy, can't complain," he says in the hearty manner I remember well from my childhood. "How is your father? I hope he is feeling better now."

"He is, sir. He sends his regards to you. He has also written a letter. It is in my luggage somewhere…"

He waves his hand. "Don't worry about it, Edward. All in good time. First let's get you settled. I bet you feel like you can sleep for a week, eh?"

I nod. "I had never travelled by bullock-cart and camel before. The bullock-cart jolted me until my bones rattled, and the camel was rather scary. The horse-cart was better, but I wish it had not taken so many days."

Charlie pays the cart-driver and thanks him. Then he turns away and hollers for someone.

"Oye, Emmett! Come here and meet Edward!"

Charlie's crisp diction has acquired a touch of native melody. Of course, he has been living in Delhi for almost three decades. It was bound to have some influence upon him.

A giant of a man appears in the veranda of the hospital. His sunburnt face makes his teeth flash extra-white as he grins.

"Yes, Doc?"

His long strides brings him to us in seconds. In spite of his size, he is quick on his feet. But then, I notice that he is not fat, just well-built.

"This is Edward Masen, the new doctor. You knew his father, didn't you?" Charlie doesn't wait for an answer, so I assume that it was a rhetorical question. "Edward, meet Emmett McCarty, soldier-turned-nurse. He is a big help to me in the hospital."

"I beg your pardon?" I am sure that I misheard him.

Emmett shakes his head and gives me an amused smile. "Don't mind Doc here, Edward. He is fond of his jokes. Oh, I addressed your father as Doc Masen, but you are younger to me, so I think Edward is better. Or should I call you Junior Doc Masen?"

I laugh and assure him that I would prefer Edward. Though we have just met, I already like him.

Having clarified the issue of addressing me, he continues. "I just like to come to the hospital when I am free to assist in any way I can. Sometimes I play cards with the inpatients, or help them walk if they are recovering from an operation. I am good at moving furniture too." As if to prove his last statement, he picks up both of my trunks as if they weigh nothing. "Come on, I will show you your living quarters. It is a pleasure to meet you, by the way. Doc here has been going on about you for the past month."

I raise an eyebrow towards Charlie, but he waves me off. "Go on, my boy. Get some rest while you can. I will send Emmett in the evening to fetch you before dinner."

I thank him and follow Emmett to a single-storey house similar to the others. The walls must have been whitewashed quite some time ago, for they show wear and tear in some places. The sloping red roof is made of baked mud tiles that have become familiar to me during my journey from Bombay to Delhi.

The front door is unlocked. Emmett kicks it open and puts the trunks down beside it. Then he slaps his thighs in satisfaction.

"Welcome, Edward. This is the house your father used to stay in. Doc Swan didn't allow anybody to step in after he left, since your father promised he would send you as soon as possible. All his furniture is still here. If you require anything else, we can get it from the local market. By the way, there is nothing in the kitchen right now. Doc Swan figured you would eat in the hospital mess anyway. You want some tea?"

I shake my head. "No, I had breakfast before we entered the city. What I need is a bath and a nap. I trust there is clean bedding in my room?"

"Oh yes, Doc Swan organized everything once your father let him know you were joining us. Well, I suppose Miss Swan did most of the work. Doc is always busy with the patients."

"Miss Swan? Oh, you must mean his daughter. Father did mention that she had returned from school and was living with him."

He nods. "Yes, she does. Keeps herself busy as a bee too, unlike most young ladies who pass their time in frivolous activities that require neither brains nor muscles."

I open my mouth to ask what Miss Swan keeps herself busy with when I am surprised by a huge yawn. Emmett laughs.

"You had better head for bed, Edward. Don't worry about locking the door. Nobody will come inside unless you invite them."

He promises to come for me in time for dinner and then leaves me. I make use of the outhouse, manage to unpack one of the trunks and take a bath. When I crawl into my bed with its sweet-smelling sheets and fluffy pillow, I sigh in content. I fall asleep almost instantly.

-LAH-

True to his word, Emmett comes back at five. He wakes me up, waits while I freshen up and change into suitable clothes and guides me to Charlie's house. However, when I invite him to join us for dinner he refuses, saying his girl is waiting for him.

"Her name is Rosalie Hale. She is half British, half Indian. She manages a saloon where the ladies go to get their hair done for parties and such. I will bring her here one day so you can meet her. She is a fine woman."

He repeats the explanation when Charlie opens the door, minus the introduction to Miss Hale. It seems Charlie was expecting it, for he does not insist.

Charles Swan is a genial man, and the warmth inside him spreads everywhere in his household. It is as if every object around him absorbs it, multiplies it and then radiates it back. It is probably true of the people he meets too.

Meeting his wife is a pleasant surprise. I knew of course that he had married a native woman after Renee, Isabella's mother, left him for another man. But I was not sure what to expect from Sue, his second wife. My father is one of those men who don't delve into details that seem irrelevant to them.

I voice my thoughts to Charlie when he introduces me to her. He fully agrees with me.

"You probably didn't know that Sue is short for Sunaina, did you?" he asks, offering me a brandy from his small collection. I accept the glass with a thank you.

"No, I can't say I did."

"Of course you didn't; your father probably didn't even remember it," he laughs. "Sunaina means a woman with beautiful eyes. I must say it suits her. Don't you agree?"

I say it does, whereas Sue just smiles affectionately, almost indulgently.

"It was a bit of tongue-twister for me, so I shortened it to Sue. Bella chides me sometimes, but she too has got used to this version."

"That reminds me," he says, turning towards the beautiful woman with glowing olive skin and jet-black hair tied neatly in a bun. "Where is Bella? I had asked her to be home early to meet Edward."

Sue smiles, her expression peaceful. "She must have forgotten. You know how she gets absorbed in her work with the children. She is in her own world then."

Charlie makes a 'hrmph' sound. "That girl doesn't know when to stop, Edward. All the girls of her age are busy trying to find a husband, and what does she do as soon as she returns from England? She gathers all the children in the neighbourhood who don't go to school and begins teaching them the three R's!"

His words might sound like a complaint, but his tone makes it clear that he is proud of her. I must confess that my curiosity is piqued. An English girl who spends her time teaching children instead of preparing for parties and dances is as much of an anomaly in Delhi as she would be in London.

"Didn't she have any problem with the local language?" I ask, having taken a sip of brandy. It's not premium stuff, but good nevertheless.

Both Charlie and Sue smile as if recalling something highly amusing.

"Oh yes, it was very difficult in the beginning," states Sue, chuckling. "Bella could not make head or tail of the children's speech, and of course they could not understand what the _gori mem_ wanted from them. It gave rise to some hilarious situations. But Bella was determined to interact with them. She pestered me to accompany her until she learnt enough to communicate with the little ones. And she picked up Hindi fairly quickly; at least, enough to make the parents understand that she meant no harm to their progeny."

I frown. "Why would they think she meant them harm in the first place?"

Charlie answers, shaking his head a little. "They thought she was trying to convert their children to Christianity. It was not their fault, really. Why would a British girl approach their children or want to teach them? Only the missionaries are interested in the poor and the lower-caste people, and although they don't force them to convert, they certainly try."

"Ah. I suppose that makes sense." It does, in a twisted kind of way. I am still curious about Sue, so I address her.

"My father didn't even mention that you speak English so fluently." I am fishing for information, but I don't want to ask a direct question.

She laughs a melodious laugh. "My father was a zamindar in Bengal; the ruler of a few villages, you might say. He was an enlightened man, believing in education for girls as well as boys. My siblings and I were home-schooled by learned teachers and encouraged to read books on different subjects. Since father frequently entertained British visitors, he decided to let us learn the English language even though some people tried to dissuade him, saying it was the language of our colonisers and would make us their slaves. He disagreed because according to him learning a new language can only lead to a wealth of knowledge that would otherwise remain inaccessible to us."

"You must have had a fascinating childhood," I murmur. "Why did you shift to Delhi, if you don't mind?"

This time her smile is a little sad. "Not at all. Most of our friends know already. When I was seventeen, I had an accident while riding my favourite horse. It was so bad that it took me months to recover. However, the doctor informed my father that I would never be able to bear children. I made my father promise me, that he would not keep any man who wished to marry me in the dark. Unfortunately, it meant that no man whom my father would have considered suitable for me agreed to marry me, once they knew the truth."

Charlie takes her hand in his. "After teaching in Calcutta for a few years she wanted a change, so she accepted a job in a girls' school in Delhi and moved here. I met her through a mutual acquaintance, and was smitten with her. I was only scared that she wouldn't take me seriously because I was older to her, or worse, hate me for being British."

"Luckily she liked him as much, and they got married soon after," says a new voice, and all of us turn towards the door. Standing there is a petite young woman with dark brown eyes and hair, smiling in amusement. "I see that you have been subjected to their romantic history, Doctor Masen."

"Isabella!"

She smiles even more widely, not at all intimidated. "Yes, Father?"

Charlie shakes his head in resignation while Sue laughs quietly. "Edward, this is my daughter, Isabella, as you might have gathered. Bella, this is Doctor Edward Masen, as you have already addressed him. There, the formalities are over. Now we can proceed to dinner."

All of us laugh at this conclusion. Sue informs Isabella that she has ten minutes to make herself presentable and join us.

Isabella nods and dashes off to her room. The rest of us move to the dining room. A beautiful teakwood table that could easily seat eight people is set with fine china and sparkling cutlery. I am quite impressed.

Charlie smiles. "All of it belongs to Sue. Her father has sent a lot of beautiful things over the years. And Sue believes in upholding the protocol. I would have been perfectly happy eating in pewter bowls and brass plates otherwise."

Isabella joins us a few minutes later, just as a maid is bringing covered dishes to the table. As Sue takes off the lids, the rising steam and appetising aroma makes my stomach rumble.

"Some of this might be unfamiliar to you," Charlie says as we took our seats. "But I can promise you that you will like the food. Sue takes care to keep the spice level low."

"I am sure I will," I return honestly. "I feel like I could eat a horse right now."

"That is the spirit!" says Sue with a twinkle in her eyes. "I like it when people eat heartily the food I have prepared. But Bella here eats like a bird. I am never sure if she is enjoying the meal or merely tolerating it."

"As if it is possible not to like the food you make," Isabella says lightly. "You just want more compliments, Sue. Does papa here not give you enough of them?"

Charlie clears his throat. "Let us say grace," he says, ending the banter.

The meal is the most enjoyable that I have had in a long time. I had quickly learnt not to expect much while I was aboard the steamer, and whatever food was available in the inns I passed by on my way to Delhi was not great on quality. It was just a means to fill my stomach.

Sue has served a beef roast with vegetables, fish curry with steamed rice, and a sweet rice pudding for dessert. I gladly take second helpings of everything, even though the curry is a little on the pungent side. Mustard, Sue informs me when I ask.

She encourages me to eat well, saying that she considers it a compliment to her cooking when people belch after a meal. Charlie immediately obliges her, and Isabella giggles.

The lively conversation greatly enhances my enjoyment. Truly, good company is as important to a meal as a good sauce!

I ask Isabella if she remembers me at all. She shakes her head with an enchanting smile.

"Sorry, but no. Papa tells me that we used to play together, but then you left for England. According to him, I cried for days, asking about 'Edwood'."

"There were two other children you played with, but _Edwood_ was your best friend," adds Charlie. Isabella blushes slightly, the pink tinging her cheeks making her even more beautiful.

I hope Charlie doesn't notice how I can't keep my eyes off his daughter for more than a minute at a time.

"You were barely three, so it's no surprise you don't remember me," I say, hoping it will lessen her embarrassment. "Anyway, I hope we can be friends again, now that I am here."

I had left for school at the age of six. British families in India prefer to educate their children in Britain. Being apart from one's children is the one disadvantage of serving here for a long term. However, I know that like my father and Charlie, many of us love this tropical country with its abundance of sunshine and colourful fauna and flora.

"Of course we can be friends," Isabella assures me. "I want to know all about your years there. When did you decide to become a doctor?"

I share the past years with her while Charlie does a crossword puzzle in an old copy of _The Times_. In spite of the long gap, I feel comfortable with both of them.

After a few minutes, Isabella asks me to address her as Bella. Since that is what I used to call her as a child, I take up the offer gladly.

When I take my leave, Charlie insists that I have dinner with them every evening. I feel it is taking advantage of his hospitality, but he laughs as if the notion is ridiculous.

"Your father was, and still is my best friend, Edward. I know he had to leave for the sake of his health, but I miss him. For years we have had dinner together. Please, let me continue this tradition. Of course, if you get bored of the company…"

I immediately assure him that it will never be that. I just do not want him to feel obliged to take care of me. Sue tsks at that, saying Charlie has always considered me part of the family.

And so it is settled. I will spend my evenings with the Swan family, unless I have another engagement.

I join my duties at the hospital the next day. The atmosphere is certainly different from the teaching hospital I took my degree from in London. The staff is small, the patients numerous. Even though it is primarily meant for army officers and soldiers and their families, Charlie never turns away a patient, wherever he might have come from. It is the reason why we are always short of medicines. As the chief, Charlie is trying to convince the administration to let us open another inpatient ward meant exclusively for civilians, and appoint more doctors. Right now they can avail only the outpatient facilities.

It takes me only a few days to see that Charlie is held in high regard by the patients, and with good reason. He is always thinking of ways to benefit them.

On Holi, the festival of colours that falls almost two weeks after my arrival, many of them bring home-made sweets for the hospital staff. They put a vermillion mark on everyone's forehead and invite us to a bonfire in their colony in the evening.

We begin work early in the morning by checking on the inpatients. Then we have breakfast in the little canteen that churns out omelettes, toast and tea on a daily basis, the monotony broken by the occasional bacon and pancakes, and then see outpatients until lunch. The Indian civilians, mostly poor people living nearby, usually suffer from diarrhoea, malaria and typhoid fever.

"Sanitation, or the lack of it, is the biggest problem here," explains Charlie one evening as we share a glass of port. Bella is freshening up for dinner. "On the other hand, have you noticed what most of the British soldiers suffer from?"

I chuckle, even though it is not really funny. "Venereal diseases. I can't understand why they can't be more careful though. It is not as if they don't know what the risks are, is it?"

Charlie shrugs. "Most of them are unmarried, and the married ones don't have their wives here as they are not allowed to bring them. Some form a relationship with a native woman, which is definitely safer than visiting a prostitute. Those who do, and I suppose the majority of them fall in this category, are the ones who end up with one or more of these diseases. What can we do but ask them to be more selective?"

When I agree with him, he looks at me as if weighing his words.

"Edward, as the son of my best friend, it is my duty to warn you on this matter. Don't take it otherwise, all right?"

I nod, somewhat confused.

"You are a doctor, but you are also a young man, and the call of blood is strong at your age. If you have to have a woman, let me know. I will find someone safe—"

I feel my face burning as I stutter that I am not looking for a woman. And when I do, I will be looking for a wife, not a consort.

"In that case, maybe you should attend a few parties when the next boatload of fishing fleet brides arrive, "he suggests with a smile.

" _Fishing fleet brides?_ I have never heard of them."

"Really? You are working too hard then, or you would have heard someone mention them. They are the women who come from Britain in the hope of catching a husband in India. As you know, most officers stationed here are bachelors. They begin to feel lonely after a while, so they want to get married. Some choose a native woman, some wait for British girls. Weren't there any in the steamer that brought you here?"

I grimace at the memory. "I don't remember, really. I spent most of the days feeling seasick, so I didn't have many conversations my fellow passengers."

Charlie looks sympathetic. "Well, never mind. I believe another group is arriving next week. You can meet them and see if anybody grabs your attention. Most of them are desperate to get married as soon as possible. And you are a doctor from a good family; you will make a most suitable husband."

I swallow the words I am impatient to ask. Would he consider me a suitable husband for his daughter?

I suppose it is too soon for this kind of conversation. Bella and I have become friends—good friends, I would like to believe—in the past few weeks. I have shared with her my childhood memories of the years I spent in Delhi, the games we used to play, the sadness I felt when I lost my mother at the age of five, and the love I received from Renee. I tell her how I used to address her parents as Uncle Charlie and Aunt Renee. To me, they were closer than the few relatives who lived in Britain.

She in turn has told me how unreal it had seemed to her when Charlie's letter had come for her at school, informing her that Renee had met someone else while on a trip to Simla, a popular hill station, and left him. She could not process it. How her mother could leave her father—such a good man too!

"I was maybe ten then," she reminisced, rubbing her hands as if they were cold. They couldn't be, of course. Spring had already given way to summer, and the days had become longer and warmer. Perhaps she did it because of the unpleasant subject. "I prayed to God nightly, asking him to make my mother return to papa. I knew he would be sad. Two years later I came to know papa was marrying again. He was worried I would be angry, but I only asked him if he was happy. That was all I wanted for him."

I took her hands in mine and squeezed them gently. She told me that Renee had returned to Britain with her new husband after a few years. Their meeting was stiff and uncomfortable.

"I had just completed school and began to teach children. She said I should get married and enjoy life instead of being a slave to the little brats. I told her that I would rather wait for the right man than jump into matrimony too quickly and regret it later, and break my husband's heart too. I had assumed that was the case with her. But she just laughed at me, saying I knew nothing about the desires of flesh, and how the best man in the world could bore you to tears after spending more than a decade together."

I was outraged. "What kind of talk is that to have with one's daughter? She can't project her prejudices on you!"

Bella shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but the deep breath she took gave her away. She was affected by her mother's words, whether she wanted to or not.

"She almost made me take a vow never to get married," she continued, and my heart sank. But her next sentence lifted my spirits a little, when she admitted that seeing Charlie and Sue together had made her more optimistic.

Still, I thought she would like to have more time together before considering a proposal.

 **April, 1857**

Major Jasper Whitlock and his wife Alice Whitlock are hosting a party, Charlie informs me at the hospital over a cup of tea.

"The new batch of aspiring brides is here. Jasper asked me if he knew of anyone who would like to attend, so I told him you would."

I scratch my neck, uncomfortable with his perspective. "Uh, I am not sure it's a good idea, Sir. To choose a girl for marriage just on the basis of her looks seems shallow to me, you know? And if I spend time with her in order to know her, and then decide not to marry her, it will probably be bad for her reputation."

Charlie looks thoughtful. "Look, why don't you just go and see what happens? You never have any fun anyway. Have a few drinks, dance with some of the girls—nothing wrong with that. Even if you don't take a fancy to any of them, you can have a good time."

"What about Bella?" I blurt out.

Charlie cocks an eyebrow.

"I mean, doesn't she attend any of these dances?" I recall then that Charlie had mentioned that she didn't, on my very first day. I try another track. "I will feel more comfortable if she goes with me. At least I will know someone!"

"Ask her, in that case," he says with a shrug. "She is usually not interested, but maybe she will take pity on you." His smile at the end makes his amusement clear.

It takes me some courage to ask Bella, but I do, after dinner that evening. Charlie has mumbled something about files and retired to his study, a room barely bigger than a closet.

"You seem jittery, Edward," observes Bella as we amble in the small back garden. The temperatures have been climbing steadily, but evenings are still pleasant. The sky is awash with warm hues of red, orange and pink. I look around, trying to collect my thoughts.

"Um, your father mentioned a party this morning, hosted by Major Jasper Whitlock and his wife—uh, Alicia?"

"Alice," she corrects me. "Yes, I know them. They host good parties—the music, the food, the drinks, everything is up to the mark. I suppose you are going?"

"Your father thinks I should go," I say, pulling at my ear nervously. She gives me a curious look.

"Don't you want to go?"

How do I say this? I feel so awkward.

"Well, your father indicated that these parties are usually held so that the officers who are posted here can meet potential brides from Britain…"

A look of understanding dawns on her face as she taps her chin.

"Ah, so he is sending you to hunt for a bride. Another boat must have arrived, hmm?"

I try to read her expression, but it doesn't look like she is upset at the thought.

'Yes," I answer with a sigh. "The fact is, I don't want to find a wife this way. I don't think such an important decision can be based on looks alone, or how well one dances, or a five-minute conversation about the weather. But your father still wants me to go—to have fun, he said."

She tilts her head to the left. "And?"

"I don't know anyone there. Will you come with me, please?"

I probably look and sound like a lost child. It is pathetic. Surprisingly, Bella gives me a soft smile.

"All right."

My answering smile is wide. "Really?"

She begins to chuckle. "Yes. Usually I find these parties boring for the same reason you mentioned just now. Everybody expects me to pair with some or other _eligible bachelor_ by the end. When I don't, they think there is something wrong with me."

I heave a sigh of relief, taking her hands in mine.

"Thank you, Bella. I promise we won't stay longer than you want."

-LAH-

Saturday evening arrives. I dress up in a suit even though it isn't cold enough to warrant one. However, this is how it is done, so I have to toe the line.

I had never seen Bella dressed up, so I am taken aback by her appearance when I go to her house to escort her to the dance. Not that her dress is outlandish by any means; it is just a flowing green dress with tulle at the neckline and a few layers of it from her hips to ankles. There is something different about her hair, I think, but I am not sure. But whatever she has done has enhanced her beauty instead of making her look like someone else, as I have seen many young women do in London.

I stare at her, mesmerised, until she raises an eyebrow and smiles playfully.

"Is there something on my face?"

I blush. "No, it is just that you look…different." How articulate of me.

"Different?" Has she misunderstood? Does she think I don't like her dress?

I decide there is no sense in beating around the bush.

"You look very beautiful, Bella. More than usual, I mean. I am honoured to escort you to the dance."

Her cheeks pink a little. "Thank you, Edward. That is very kind of you."

Charlie appears behind her, followed by Sue. "Ready, Bella? The horse-cart will be here any moment. Hello, Edward."

I had no idea until last evening that they too would be attending the party, but then I realised that of course they couldn't send Bella with me without a chaperone. However, right now I wish they were not accompanying us. Suddenly it seems the right time to have a heart-to-heart with her.

But of course I can't do that with Charlie and Sue around. I sigh.

The party is well-arranged and well-attended. Bella was right when she said that the Whitlocks' parties were good.

The major, who seems to be a cheerful fellow, welcomes me warmly and insists that I call him Jasper. Alice, his wife, is the perfect hostess. She asks me how I feel in a new place, so I tell her I used to live her as a child.

"Oh, that's wonderful! I have been here for only the last four years, so I had no idea if your father had lived alone all the time or not. And you knew Bella then? She has grown up into a wonderful young woman, hasn't she?"

Maybe she likes the word 'wonderful' too much, but she seems sincere in her effusions. And of course I have no problem agreeing that Bella is wonderful. To me she is the most wonderful woman in the whole world.

But I want to tell that to _her_ first, and not when we are surrounded by a crowd.

Charlie introduces me to a few officers and their wives, and then Alice introduces me to a few girls. Either she thinks I am in need of a wife, or Charlie has put her to this. It makes no difference to me either way. I am polite with everybody, but take care not to show attention to any one of them. I don't wish anyone to form the wrong idea.

It is more difficult to remain aloof when it comes to dancing though. I am supposed to ask as many girls as possible, and I have to make small talk, and smile a bit. It is torture to see Bella dance with other men. The only good part is that I get to dance with her—twice.

For a girl who doesn't believe in going out much, Bella is an exceptionally good dancer. I compliment her, and she explains that the school she had been a student at believed in teaching as many skills as possible to the girls. She did art, music, needlework—even though she had no interest in the first and the last.

"I am a fair singer, I suppose," she remarks while we go round in a circle with the other dancers, "but my needlework had my teacher tearing out her hair. Academics was my saving grace, and as I really wanted to be a teacher, I thought I would manage without embroidering cushions and such."

Her eyes twinkle as she says this, enthralling me completely. After a moment I notice that she seems to be waiting for a reply.

"I am sure you will manage admirably," I say finally, making her smile.

When we break up for refreshments, I see Emmett in a group of people and go to him to say hello. But when I reach there, I hear him speaking animatedly and pause to listen. Some of the people are nodding their heads in agreement, while some look unconvinced.

"…completely wrong to give them something they are uncomfortable with. What is the need for fat-greased cartridges anyway?" he says, spreading his hands to emphasise his words. I had heard something similar in the hospital a day or two ago, but not paid any attention to the topic. But it seems it is a serious issue, judging by Emmett's expression.

"I don't understand why it is such a big problem to the Indian soldiers. Aren't British soldiers using the same cartridges?" asks Michael Newton, another doctor from the hospital. He is a decent chap, even though he mostly keeps to himself. I am glad he asked. Emmett's answer will enlighten me too.

"See, the tallow used to grease these cartridges comes from cows and pigs," Emmett explains patiently. "The Hindus regard the cow as a sacred animal, so they won't touch its meat or fat, and the Muslims believe the pig is unclean, so they won't touch it dead or alive. You see what is the problem? This is not a matter of personal preference; this is what they have always believed in because their religion says so. They _will not_ go against their faith. And their superior officers are insisting that they open the cartridges with their teeth, and threatening to court martial anybody who doesn't. It won't go down well!"

"You think it might lead to an uprising?" someone asks.

Emmett shrugs. "Who knows? All I am saying is that this should be taken seriously. As it is, the soldiers from Bengal are not happy that they are being asked to go serve in the western provinces. They say they had been promised to be stationed in their own state."

"I think they are making a mountain of a molehill," says Captain James Hawley, crossing his arms in front of him. He looks around, his eyes flashing. "They are soldiers, and their job is to follow orders, whatever they might be. How does religion figure into this? I say every bloody footie should be court martialled for refusing to follow a command and punished severely. They don't know how lucky they are to serve in the British army!"

Before the conversation heats up into an argument, Charlie and Sue join us. A tall, red-headed girl in a crimson gown is with them.

Charlie asks everyone to cool down, reminding that this is a party, not a military office. Sue introduces Miss Victoria Highmore to us, adding that she had known her parents when they were stationed in Bengal.

Then she addresses me. "Edward, why don't you dance with her next? Victoria, Edward Masen is a doctor at the army hospital."

Victoria looks suitably impressed while I wish it was allowed to glare at a lady. Why is Sue doing this to me? I do not want to talk with anyone except Bella.

Well, I console myself, it is only one dance. Then someone else will ask her. I could survive one dance.

Unfortunately, Victoria is unable to take a hint. She does not let me go at the end of the dance, and wants to talk some more when the second one ends. Also, her non-stop prattling is giving me a headache. The only way to excuse myself is to tell her I need to go to the outhouse, so I do that and make my escape into the garden.

The garden is well-maintained, with a grassy area, bushes with tiny white flowers that are giving off a heady fragrance, and trees along the perimeter. A narrow path twists and turns through all of it, forming a rough circle.

A few couples are enjoying the balmy breeze. I wander aimlessly until I am sure Victoria must be dancing with someone else by now.

As I turn back towards the bungalow, I spy Bella coming towards me. Her smile clearly says that she is very amused.

"Bella!" I am so happy to see her.

"So you have been hiding out here," she says, lips twitching with laughter. "Poor Victoria was looking for you. She came to ask Sue if she had seen you, and Sue asked me, so I figured you must have made an effort to escape. What made you run away from that beautiful girl?"

"Bella, you know very well I don't want to look at any other girl except you," I answer, taking her hands in mine. I am tired of waiting.

She looks surprised, but also something else. Pleased, maybe?

"Really? Um, I didn't know."

"Well, I was waiting a bit, until we knew each other well, before declaring my feelings. But I can't wait any longer. Please say you feel _something_ more than friendship for me."

Her cheeks flush as she nods in affirmative. I know then that I want to make her my wife as soon as possible, and I go down on one knee in front of her, still holding her hands. Her eyes widen.

"Edward, what—"

"Please, please listen to me. I know it has not been long since we met—well, we knew each other as children but you don't remember that—uh, why am I saying that anyway—I mean, I have come to love you and respect you a great deal during the past month. I want to be with you forever, Bella. Will you please be my wife?"

I hold my breath after my rambling proposal, searching her face. Her expression slowly changes from startled to happy, and then she laughs. I exhale in relief.

"Only you, Edward Masen, would propose in someone's garden while a party is going on and half a dozen people are staring at us." I look around, embarrassed to discover that she is right. "But yes, I will marry you. Now get up from there and kiss me."

I get up so hastily that I almost slip. I had never imagined our first kiss to be in a public setting, but how can I refuse Bella?

"Here? Are you sure?"

"It wouldn't be my first choice, but I have been waiting too, you know? I thought maybe you didn't think of me in that way."

I pull her closer and press a sweet kiss on her sweet lips. The rest I will keep for a more private occasion.

"Thank you, my love. You can't imagine how happy you have made me by saying yes."

Somebody claps, and a few congratulations are murmured. Bella's eyes look glassy even though she is smiling widely.

"Let us go in and tell papa and Sue."

I feel as if I am walking on air.

-LAH-

The rest of April goes by very quickly, and yet too slowly sometimes.

Charlie and Sue are happy for us and give their blessings immediately. Indeed, Sue hints that she has had some idea of our feelings and was waiting for us to declare them. It makes me wonder if she forced Victoria upon me to give me a little push.

My daily meetings with Bella are sweeter, now that I know that we are more than friends. I am relieved that my feelings will not remain unreciprocated. I know that I can kiss her sometimes and it won't be considered wrong or scandalous.

Of course we still can't go out unchaperoned, so Sue and Charlie come with us on the two visits we make to two of Delhi's famous monuments—the Red Fort, and the Qutub Minar. Both of them amaze me with their architecture and strength.

More and more trees in the city are bursting into flowers as summer progresses. There is the beautiful Flamboyant tree—locally known as Gulmohar—with its bright green leaves and regal-looking flowers that range from orange-vermillion to a vivid crimson. Planted side-by-side on both sides of the city roads with the Indian Laburnum with its golden chandelier-like flowers, they make for a striking sight.

The Silk Cotton trees in the compound, on the other hand, have shed most of their velvet-textured flowers. Their pods are large and ripe, some of them already bursting open and releasing the seeds with their silky treasure. Bella tells me that soon children will come collecting the strands, taking them home so that they can be used in pillows and quilts.

When I ask Bella if she would consider returning to Britain someday, she confesses that she likes it here.

"I suppose I will go back if you want to," she says thoughtfully. "But otherwise, if you are happy here, I can see myself growing old in this city. I like the people with their warm hearts and frank laughter, the wide, tree-lined roads, the historical monuments, and the abundance of sunshine. What do you think? Can you see yourself here thirty or forty years later?"

I had not given the matter much thought, but when she paints this picture…I begin to think about my future.

To my surprise, I _can_ see myself growing old in Delhi, with Bella by my side, our children all grown up and having their own families. I know most of our friends will eventually return to Britain, but I hope some of them will remain here.

I miss the sea though, so maybe we will move to a town by the sea. We will see. There is plenty of time to decide.

I tell Bella all this, and watch her smile widen. She really does love this place, with its snow-free winters and scorching hot summers. I can't wait to begin my life with her.

We have to wait the mandatory four weeks period, of course. We are going to be married in St James Church, built in 1836 by a Colonel James Skinner. It is small but pretty, with stained glass windows all around. We have decided to get married on the first Wednesday of May, since it is considered the luckiest day of the week.

The month of May is not considered the best for weddings, but I can't wait until June. It's old superstition anyway.

I have written to my father and Bella to her mother, even though she doesn't expect a reply from her. My father will be happy for me, but he won't be able to travel this far. Still, his blessings will be with us.

Sue is busy preparing for the wedding. It is going to be a simple affair, but still there is a lot to be done. She is getting Bella's dress made from the best dressmaker in Delhi. Also, there will be a reception afterwards, to which Charlie and Sue will invite their many friends—army officers as well as civilians.

In a nutshell, my personal life has never been happier and more hopeful than it is now.

But there are distant rumbles of dissatisfactions, disrupting the perfection of our world.

The sepoys in the Bengal army, especially the high-caste ones who had been promised they would not be sent overseas are worried that they will be asked to go to Burma and China because of the General Service Enlistment Act. The ones who have been there already complain of insufficient remuneration.

There is much discontent over the lack of promotions. Since the number of European officers has increased over the years, Indian officers rarely get a promotion in a reasonable span of years. Naturally they are far from happy.

There has been unrest and arson in Agra, Allahabad and Ambala due to the tallow-greased cartridges. To top it all, General Anson, the Commander-in-Chief of the Bengal Army, left for Simla to enjoy the coolness of the hill station instead of solving the problem.

It is becoming clear by the day that the situation is explosive, and yet no measures have been taken to mitigate it.

Like everyone else, I too believe that things will sort themselves out.

-LAH-

 **May 11, 1857**

The day Bella became my wife—five days ago—was the happiest day of my life. Our names and our lives are linked for ever. Nobody can tear us apart.

She moved into my two bedroom house that very evening, completing it as she had completed my life. I had asked her a couple of weeks before the wedding if she wanted to buy new furniture, but she assured me that there was no hurry. For now, she was quite content with what we had.

"Is the bed you have now a sturdy one?" she had asked, with drastic effect on my peace of mind. From that day on, all I could see when I looked at my bed was Bella spread on it, her long brown hair framing her lovely face like a painting from the renaissance, her eyes full of desire for me, and her gorgeous body…unclothed.

I would berate myself for my fancy, but I hadn't realised then that reality could be better than imagination.

Bella had no experience, but was willing to learn. I didn't have a great amount of experience, but I had some, having spent almost a year with a girl while I was a student in London. At that time, I thought we would be married one day, but then she met someone else and fell _out of love_ with me, as she explained kindly.

Anyway, I assumed the role of Bella's teacher with great alacrity. She was my only and favourite pupil in our bedroom. Her flexibility proved to be an asset, leading to new positions every day. Her lusty sighs and moans were music to my ears as I discovered ways to pleasure her with my fingers, my tongue and my cock. And she was not shy of reciprocating, making me groan with gratification as she touched me, kissed me and sometimes nipped my skin playfully.

Thank heavens that the bed proved to be sturdy enough for our many experiments, and that I had been given leave until Sunday. I could not have managed to detach myself from her on Thursday morning had I been expected at the hospital.

As soon as possible, we were going on a proper honeymoon. Somewhere in the hills, where the days would be cool even during June and the nights cold enough to snuggle together. Delhi summers were sweltering. Making love wouldn't be as much fun if we were sweating all the time, though it wouldn't keep me away from my bride.

After five blissful days and nights, it was time to go back to work. I left Bella with a goodbye kiss that almost made me late, but I couldn't help it. Our intimacy was new, and she was the most tempting woman on earth.

She told me that she would pay Sue a visit before noon. We had barely shown our face to anybody since the wedding.

"Won't it be awkward?" I asked, thinking of meeting Charlie at the hospital. Even though Bella and I had only done what newly married couples usually do, I felt that I wouldn't be able to meet Charlie's eyes. I had spent these days exploring his daughter thoroughly, after all.

Bella smiled. "No, Sue is very liberal. I can discuss anything with her without hesitation."

A doubt raised its head inside me. "Is there something you want to discuss with her? Have I done anything wrong, or not done something I should have?"

She put her arms around me and kissed me. "You have been perfect. Our time together has been perfect. If I mention something about it to Sue, it can only be good."

I beamed as if I had conquered the world.

-LAH-

My day at the hospital is busy as usual. Charlie makes an announcement that his request for an inpatient ward for Indian civilians has been granted. Three new doctors and other staff will be recruited. Everybody present cheers loudly.

However, there is an undercurrent of tension, and the air is thick with rumours. Every outpatient has something to tell us, or add to what we have already heard.

We knew that the unsympathetic Lieutenant Colonel George Carmichael-Smyth of the 3rd Bengal Light Cavalry had ordered ninety soldiers to parade and perform firing drills on the 24th of April. All but five of them refused to use the cartridges given to them. What nobody had known before was that for this insubordination, eighty five men were court martialled on the 9th of May and sentenced to ten years rigorous imprisonment. The entire garrison was paraded and watched as they were stripped of their uniforms and placed in shackles. As they were marched to jail, the condemned soldiers berated their comrades for failing to support them.

The next day being Sunday, the European officers were taking things easy. A few Indian soldiers warned their seniors that there was a plan to free the court-martialled sepoys, but nobody took them seriously. Towards evening, when most of the European officers were preparing to attend church and the soldiers were off-duty, the Indian troops led by the 3rd Cavalry broke into revolt. European junior officers who tried to quell the first outbreak were killed by their own men. The nearby houses were attacked and some people killed. Crowds in the bazaar attacked off-duty soldiers. Some Indian civilians were killed, as also some servants who tried to defend or conceal their masters.

The sepoys then went on to free their imprisoned comrades, as well as eight hundred other prisoners.

Some sepoys from the 11th Bengal Native Infantry escorted a few European officers and families to safety before joining the revolt.

The most disturbing news—if it is news and not a rumour—comes around ten o'clock. Apparently the sepoys from Meerut have come to Delhi and met the dethroned emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar. They petitioned him to lead them against the British, and many sepoys from the fort have joined them. There have been a few skirmishes, and a few people have been killed—a couple of European officials, and three Indian Christians.

By lunch, Bella and Sue join us. They have heard from one of the servants that there is rioting going on in the city. Telegraph messages have been sent from the Flagstaff Tower to British units in other cities, but it is not clear when help will reach us.

"Should we try to leave?" asks a worried Newton. Charlie and I shake our heads at the same time.

"I don't think it will help. Where will we go? And what of the patients who are in the wards?" asks Charlie. I agree with him.

"I think remaining here is safer," says Emmett. "Why would they attack the hospital? There are Indians too here—outpatients and staff."

He doesn't seem convinced, but he is not budging either. Rosalie is visiting her parents who live in Kasauli, so he is not worried about her.

We go back to our tasks. Bella and Sue remain, helping in small ways. I would send Bella home but I am unsure how safe she would be there. Charlie is probably thinking the same.

A little while later, as I am stitching a four-year old boy's forehead, I hear a rumbling sound, like distant thunder. I instinctively glance towards the open window to my right, but the sky looks clear. The sound goes on for a few minutes while I complete my task and send my young patient away. Feeling increasingly nervous, I go out of the room and find people congregating in the verandah, all of them looking fearful. After a few minutes of silence, we decide that we should continue seeing patients instead of wasting our time.

Not even half an hour has passed when there is a commotion outside. I run out and find James Hawley tumbling down from his horse. Blood is oozing from his shoulder, reddening his white shirt. I reach him the same time as Emmett and another assistant do.

Emmett picks him up and carries him inside.

"What happened?" he asks the injured man.

"Sepoys!"

And then he passes out.

Before I can go examine him, I am distracted by the sound of a multitude of running feet, followed by shouts and chants I cannot understand. But I can clearly see the crowd at the open wooden gate of the compound. It constitutes of sepoys as well as civilians, all of them yelling for blood. My first thought is to take Bella and run to safety, wherever it might be. My second is that I am too young to die.

"Take him to Newton," I order Emmett, who has stopped in his tracks, looking fascinated with the converging wave of people.

He goes.

There is nothing to be done. There are no strong gates that can be barred, no weapons that can be used and no place where we can hide. This is the end.

I wish I could see my father one last time. I wish that I could have many more years with Bella, living in a peaceful town on the seashore, watching our children play in the sand.

The torches I can see in several hands worry me the most. Hopefully they will not use them, sparing the patients, and the women and the children in nearby houses.

All the hospital staff has gathered around me in the verandah. Helpless to protect ourselves, we are waiting for the first shot to be fired, when the outpatients surge forward and form a human shield in front of us.

The roaring crowd quietens in surprise, and I see what I had missed earlier. Many of the civilians are the poor people living in the nearby area. They must have followed the sepoys and rioters when they saw them bursting through the gate. Gradually they separate themselves from the crowd and move towards us, then turn around and make a second row of the shield.

I feel Bella's touch on my shoulder and turn around to find her standing close by. She is shaking with fear, but her expression is determined. Charlie and Sue are there too, and so is Emmett. Newton is probably attending to James in one of the rooms.

Someone from the rioters yells to let them through. I can't understand exactly what he is saying, but the intention is clear enough. The words _British_ and _firangi_ are repeated a few times, combined with expletives I don't even want to know the meaning of.

A tall man who I recognise as the father of the little boy I treated today answers. His voice is loud and impassioned. He gestures with his hands, saying _doctors_ many times. Then he picks up his son and seats him on his shoulders, presumably to let the crowd see his forehead.

Other patients speak up, mentioning the names of diseases we commonly treat here. They tell the angry crowd about the new department to be opened in the hospital, all due to the efforts of _Doctor Sahib._ A few women join their hands in supplication, crying openly and asking the sepoys to leave.

There are some cries of impatience and rage, but I can see that the tempers are cooling down. Finally a sepoy in the front, perhaps their leader, shakes his head and turns to face the rioters. He raises his arms and says one word.

"Chalo."

I know it means _let us go._ I have heard it often enough. But never had I imagined that I would be so thankful to hear it.

Like an ebbing tide, the crowd that had come to murder us turns away and leaves.

For a moment there is complete silence. Then Bella flings herself in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. I can hear people around me sniffling and thanking God. I feel so weak, it is a miracle I am still standing. But I console Bella as best as I can, stroking her hair and her back.

When she is a little calmer, I hear Sue thanking our saviours. She talks to them in Bangla and Hindi, tears falling from her eyes. A couple of men answer, using some English words too. More than their words, I understand their spirit.

Sue tells us that they had refused to move when the sepoys asked them to, insisting that they would rather die than allow them to harm us. That we were selfless doctors who were here only to help the sick, be they European or Indian. That they should take their anger and hurt to the right place and people, rather than murdering innocent, generous beings.

Newton joins us, informing us that James will survive. It seems the British Ordnance officers in charge of the arsenal had blown it up, fearing that it would fall into the hands of the rebels. James had merely been passing through the neighbourhood, when a piece of shrapnel had struck him. He was sure some people had died, and houses were damaged. Unsure where to find a doctor, he had headed for the Army Hospital.

Unfortunately, the blasts had incited more sepoys and civilians to join the rebels, and as he neared the hospital, he attracted one such crowd, inadvertently leading them to us.

I don't even want to imagine what would have happened had the patients not protected us. I am sure none of us would have survived.

Sue and Charlie are still talking with some of them. I think they are trying to find a safe place for us, or a safe way of leaving the city.

But the Indians fold their hands and plead. They assure us that they will be here, and bring more people with them the next day. They will not allow anybody to harm us.

Charlie tells us they are worried that we won't return if we leave. It is not only a question of having a hospital and doctors here to take care of them. They have become attached to us, especially to Charlie, and me because they know me as my father's son. Like Charlie, my father too was dedicated to saving lives.

"What do you think, Bella?" I ask. If she feels unsafe, I will take her wherever she wants to go.

She thinks for a minute, looking at our protectors. Finally she nods.

"We should stay here. Danger and death can follow us anywhere, but as we just saw, these people love us like their own family. And love will always prevail over hate—that is what I believe in. One day, if we choose to leave, I want to do that with their blessings. I want to have a lifetime of memories to look back to, and I am sure they will be good ones."

Everyone around us nod in agreement. When we agreed to serve here, we knew that there will be difficulties, that living here will be different from living in Britain.

We came here with a purpose, and we will remain here to fulfil it.

Gori mem: a fair-skinned young woman

Sepoy: an Indian soldier serving under British rule. Origin: Sipahi (Persian)

Sahib: a respectful address, akin to sir.

Bleeding: a euphemism for bloody. Of course James is not as polite as Edward!

Simla: the summer capital of the British officials in India.

Kasauli: another town in the hills.

Firangi: a foreigner, specifically a Caucasian.

* * *

 **A.N.** : This story is based on true historical events, though I have taken some artistic liberties.

Anything else you want to know? I will gladly answer your questions.

I might write a BPOV, if enough people are interested in reading it. Bella has so much to say!

Finally, heartfelt thanks to **Shouldbecleaning** , for planting the germ of an idea in my mind, of an Edward in British India. :)


End file.
